A/N:

To clarify: I do NOT throw fits. I just suggested Madea stop hogging the writing machine so I might have a turn. That shoe flew through the air of it's own volition.

Anyway, our darling Countess Black was helpful as usual. She stopped that awful muggle girl from picking on me, at least.

Please write me a note, I'm being tortured mercilessly day and night.

Draco

Custard groaned. Panting, the kneazle groaned softly and Galten, stroking her head, murmured encouragement. Nipsy squatted down and helped the first kitten make it's way into the world. Custard heaved herself up and chewed the sac off of her kit, gnawed the cord through and set to washing the little mewling ball of fluff

Hermione beamed and squeezed Draco's hand. "Isn't it exciting?"

Green faced, Draco made himself nod. "Glorious. Is this what it will look like when you have the baby?"

Hermione laughed. "Draco! I can't bend like that." He got greener and she whispered a suggestion in his ear. "l'm fine. Will there be much blood, would you say?"

Galten snorted. "Lad, when the time comes Nature'll take her course, just as she did with Custard here. Didn't she, darlin'?"

Custard yowled and Nipsy guided the second kit onto the bed. Within a moment, it had joined it's sibling at her stomach, blind and quivering. A third push and the last kit was born and seen to. Galten and Antigone both slumped back, and Greg, who'd been waiting to go and tell Da, was quickly Apparated by a beaming Leesy.

"Three! Imagine the luck!" Galten nodded and gave his wife a squeeze. The spectre of poverty had been too close to them lately; the kittens meant wood for the fires and candles and food and new clothing. They meant Greg and Milly could marry soon, and Da, once he was well, could hire an advocate to plead his case before the Wizengamot.

"Congratulations!" Hermione couldn't move much, but she could smile, and she did. Custard put her head back against Hermione's stomach and felt the Big Kit inside move. She wondered when the female would be making her own den, and hoped she'd been paying attention when Custard had carefully gathered her own materials.

"I'm surprised she did it here. Didn't she make a nest under the divan?"

Galten nodded and scratched the kneazle's soft throat. "She did, but kneazles are smart. She knows her odds are better with us helping her. The den is just for if she feels threatened. What we want is to see she doesn't, because that'll make our job harder."

Draco, whose stomach felt much better, helped to vanish the soiled towels and pads. "That's bloody wonderful, but why did it have to be my side?" They all laughed. Hermione could feel Custard's purring against her side, and the soft little motions as the kits swam against the bed, totally helpless.

Draco nodded. "Is it all right if I take a picture tomorrow?"

Antigone smiled. "Would you? Save us a trip." She turned and gave Hermione a hard look. "Are your legs swelling?"

"No, Antigone."

"Not at all?"

"Not at all." Antigone cooed softly at the little balls of fur. "They're beautiful, aren't they?"

"It's hard to picture my Crookshanks this size."

"They get big quickly. Just like children." Antigone smiled a little and shook her head. "Ah, well. Do you have something from your muggle parents I could use for the tenth day gown? A ribbon or some buttons?" She didn't know precisely what muggle clothing looked like, but given how some of the halfbloods she saw hanging about Diagon Alley dressed, she imagined that would be the only usable part.

Hermione wrinkled her nose in thought. "There might be something in the attic of the house in Darlington."

"I have an errand to run. I'll call for Madam Tonks, all right?" Andromeda have come, Antigone draped herself in a cloak and prepared to set off. "Going to see Polynices, Tigs?"

"Yeah, Galten. Need anything while I'm out?" He shook his head. "Taking Nipsy?"

"Course I am. What about Father and Greg? Snape?" Being as he was single, and head of Slytherin, Antigone had quite taken over fussing at Snape about things, when Narcissa was too busy.

Galten looked around and kissed her wife lightly. "We'll be fine. Tell Polynices hello for all of us." She took up her selkie muff and was gone in a flash of threadbare wool and tattered grayish fur.

Greg, having told Alecto since Da was asleep, decided to move onto part two of his mission. Snape was sitting in his rooms when the elf announced young Master Gregory was outside, and would Master Snape see him?

"Mr. Goyle. How may I help you?"

"Headmaster, I asked Da something and he said to tell you, you being a teacher and all."

"I see. What did you wish to ask?"

Goyle looked solemn, almost studious. "How did Draco give Hermione the baby? Da says it's not making her sick, but…I won't make Milly sick, will I?" Greg was worried about the last, worried a lot. Snape did a funny thing in response: he looked up at the ceiling and said clearly "Albus, damn you, this is emphatically not funny."

"Sir?"

"Well you see, Goyle…" Severus Snape might not have been, in many ways, a very good teacher of Potions. But he knew his duty. And he knew where Galvin Goyle slept, and so as he explained the facts to life to his erstwhile student, he was plotting suitable revenge. And knew, deep in his heart, that somewhere Albus was laughing until he cried.

The apprentice healer on desk duty looked up to see a large woman swathed in black, along with a house elf that looked ready to die of old age as they waited, looking at him. "Madam?"

"Polynices Parkinson?"

"Room 326." She nodded her thanks and walked down the corridor, which was heavily silenced against the noises the various inhabitants made. She knocked on the door and slid it open. Polynices was sitting in the chair by the window. There was no trace of the strong young Death Eater he'd been; he looked old and tired. His hair, once the Parkinson black, was shot with grey.

"Polynices? Do you remember me?"

He smiled tiredly. "Antigone. Cousin Antigone's come to visit." He made as though to rise from his chair and she shook her head. "No, it's all right. How are you?"

"Tired, Tiggy. I was sorry about Uncle Polybus. Is that why you're here?"

"No, just wanted to see if you need anything. I brought you some biscuits." He smiled again and took one. "I can't remember it, you know. Only darkness…a flash of light…green light…and the Mask fell away."

"What Mask, Polynices?"

He chewed meditatively. " I can't remember. It was so dark. I didn't hurt anyone, did I?"

"No. Hugged Snape. That count, Pol?" They both laughed. Polynices took another biscuit. "I'll die here, you know."

"No, you won't. Once you feel better, they'll take you home."

His eyes stared a long way off. "Better like this. I wouldn't…we can go only so far and stay sane." He took her hand in his, and his grip was like iron. "I think…maybe…it was so dark." He dropped his head and began to cry, and the orderlies came and forced a potion down his throat.

"Perhaps come another day, Madam?" Antigone left the hospital, trailing her elf. "It is being all right, Madam. He is being better soon."

Antigone saw a familiar mustache, and noticed the idiot auror from their cross country flight. She meant to sneak away but he turned, and looked directly at her with a slightly addled expression. He jumped with shock, and then tried to make it look like a normal thing to be doing, which failed miserably.

"Are you all right?"

He jerked at her voice. "Ah, yes, quite. May I help you, Madam…?"

"Goyle. Galten Goyle. We've met."

"Of course. Were you visiting someone?"

"Yes." She pulled her cloak tighter. "You?"

He jerked again. "Ahhh…yes. My…Grandmum." That sounded plausible, certainly. The woman nodded and stepped back. "Godd day, then." She Apparated, ancient elf following behind. The false Noissome, sent to scout the Ministry again, smiled to himself and went to tell Fen his great idea.

The Ministry had been an abject failure. One of the false Noisomes had been sent to attempt entry a day after Bellatrix's 'interview'. He (she, as this one was female) quietly spent a day testing the wards, wandering carefully here and there. Having taken off shortly before close, and having eaten a wizard style meal in a tavern (why must humans char their food to leather in order to think it worth eating? Disgusting.) carefully made her way back to the Ministry.

The Shacklebolt regime had learnt something from the failures of previous Ministers. Specifically, that while Ministry employees might need to be able to gain free access, there was no reason for them to able to get out again without help.

So when the false Noisome had snooped about satisfactorily, s/he promptly discovered that there was no way out again. She'd need to summon an auror, which would quite defeat the purpose of the exercise. So s/he found an alcove, and waited until the first workers appeared. The Polyjuice having worn off long since, she streaked by and rushed into the street to Apparate.

And the janitor, who was seventy nine and had very few naked, nubile girls rushing anywhere near him these days, quietly took a long nip from the flask in his hip pocket. "No one'd believe me anyway' he thought, and worked that day with the lightest heart he'd had in twenty five years at least.

Greyback whooped with glee when the third false Noisome suggested a new plan. He'd sent the oaf to scout the Ministry again, but this…this was…"Good, boy." The next day they'd send someone, dressed in regular clothes, to request the layout, and then they'd be able to begin. Mind spinning, Greyback sat back and called his top lieutenants, so they could brief the hoard that waited, restive and humming, below them, spread across the woods around their fires like moths.

Goyle hadn't blinked. "And you mean to tell me that everybody does this?"

"More or less."

He rose without another word, bowed politely and got as far from Snape as he could. "Draco! Oi, Draco!"

"Something wrong, Greg?"

"Snape's off his nut, is what's wrong!"

"What do you mean?" Draco sat down and watched as Greg quickly closed the doors and silenced the sitting room. "He told me the most awful things…" Draco sat forward. "Like what, Greg?"

"He said married people sometimes…it's not true, is it, that I have to' he dropped his voice to keep Grandmother from hearing 'is it? And that all married people…"

Draco sat in silence for a second. "No, that's how one does that."

"What?" Goyle looked ready to cry, so Draco said, as helpfully as possible 'Snape's the one who told me, too, so if I'm doing it wrong, so is he."

"Snape's not married."

"Doesn't mean he's never done that."

Greg looked affronted. "He said only married people."

"He didn't say they had to be married to one another, did he?" Draco shuddered and wished for some whiskey to wipe the memory of Snape's inferences about Trixie aside.

"Who else would he…Trelawney, maybe? She's a widow."

"I shouldn't think so, Greg. He once made a comment about someone, but it was too disgusting for words."

Greg's eyes widened. "McGonagall? He and McGonagall did that together?"

"Worse. He and Trixie."

"Blimey, that's horrible!" They both shuddered. Greg couldn't believe that Draco had ever done such a thing, especially to his wife. Did this mean Galten and Tiggy…Da and Mam, even…He stopped that line of thought right there.

"Draco?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do you think Milly will want to do that with me?"

"Of course she will, Greg. She likes you."

"Is that enough?" Draco thought about his own first time, and grimaced as he recalled the cirmcumstances. His poor little girl, her heart had beaten like a mouse's, hadn't it? And he'd always been afraid, after, that the Dark Lord would find it, and see how they'd lain together after and been quiet, and profane it with His mind and His questions and His cold, cold voice.

"The thing is, Greg…"

As Draco was scarring Greg, Hermione was relaxing with Custard. Tibby stood by Hermione's pillow and watched as well, careful to see she didn't do too much. "Tibby?"

"Young Madam?"

"Were you there when Draco was born?"

Tibby smiled. "We is. We is being first to hold him. He was being very small baby, with whole head of blond curls."

Hermione's eyes lit up at the image. "Was he a good baby?"

"He was. Always being laughing." The elf knew precisely where this was leading and patiently waited for the inevitable. "Will there be much pain, do you think?"

Tibby tugged the covers higher. "We is not knowing, young Madam." She couldn't bear to tell her that the answer was almost certainly yes. Young Madam's hips were small, and her pelvis very narrow. Tibby worried the labour would be back labour, and that young Madam wouldn't be able to stand the pain.

"Have you ever known of a woman to, to die, Tibby?"

"Yes, young Madam. Miss Lavinia died that way." Tibby wanted to punch herself, to bang her head. Anything but continue this conversation. It hurt to relive those awful last moments, and young Madam was clammy with dread.

"And the baby?"

"It was being born dead." A tear slid down Tibby's cheek. All that, and nothing to show for it. She'd done her duty to the end, staying near until Miss Lavinia had been put in the family tomb in Mulciber manor, wailing and ripping her towel in grief.

"I'm sorry, Tibby. I never meant to upset you."

"Is long time ago, young Madam. Fifty seven years." Tibby shook her head to clear it. It was the curse of the house elf, she often thought to herself, to love and lose so many witches and wizards and never have them understand how much you cared.

"Tibby?"

"Yes, young Madam?"

"You'll stay with me, won't you? When I have it. If something should happen…you'll need to help Mother."

"Nothing is happening, young Madam." Hermione reached up and gave the elf a friendly squeeze on the hand. "No, of course not. But just in case."

Draco and Greg came in just then. "Hello, love."

Hermione couldn't sit up, but she smiled brightly and pretended she could all the same. "Hello, gentlemen. How are you?"

"Well. Greg wanted to check on Custard."

"She's right here, Greg. The kits are adorable."

"Course they are. Our Custard made them. Isn't that right?" Custard flicked her tail in agreement and indicated her Big Kitten could touch the babies. Greg, aware he was being indulged, gently fingered one of the balls of fuzz. They looked like fat little chicks, so fluffy were they.

"Their eyes won't open for a few weeks, or their ears." He rubbed Custard's chin. "She'll be wanting supper soon, and then we'll take her for a while to give Hermione some rest."

Custard miaowed her agreement with the 'supper' part and then turned to her other pet humans. She gave the tall one her permission, and he slowly extended a fingertip and touched one of the kit's paws. "He's so tiny."

Hermione giggled. "Babies usually are, sweet."

Draco glowered. "Well, yes, but they're just so little and helpless… it's almost endearing." He wondered if that was how human babies were. He'd never seen a really tiny human child, and it fascinated him, thinking it was be so totally dependant on them for everything.

"Teddy's dependant on us, and tiny."

"It's different. He can do things." Pureblood ladies never left the house for quite some time after they'd had a baby, and the babies themselves weren't seen in public until they were at least four months old. Draco quite wondered what a newborn might look like, and act like. He hoped it wouldn't be as disconcertingly small as the kneazle kits were. He'd be scared of breaking it.

Voicing the last, he wasn't surprised when Hermione, after duly chuckling at his ignorance, sent Tibby to Darlington to look in her attic. The elf came back with a parcel done up in paper and twine, which Hermione directed it to open.

She reached in and handed Draco a picture. "Ugh! That's what a newborn looks like?"

"Draco! That's me at two hours old!" Draco slowly put the picture down. Greg picked it up again and studied it. " Even I saw that one coming, mate. It doesn't move. The picture."

"Muggle pictures don't, remember? That's really you?"

Hermione handed him a tiny hat next. " Yes, of course. Here's the hat Nan made." Draco ran it in his fingers, surprised by how soft and warm it was. "Angora?"

"She took apart her favorite jumper to make me that." She showed another picture, with her muggles clustered around a squalling, red faced creature wrapped in a blanket. Draco chuckled. "Who's this I see?"

"That's Hermione, Draco. Right?"

Draco shot Greg a look, but Hermione said quickly "He means the stuffed badger. I still have it."

Draco wished Greg wasn't there so he could tease Hermione a little. She apparently had the same idea, because she lowered her eyelashes flirtatiously at him and then said "Draco, may I have a word with Greg a moment?"

Draco blinked but rose and went to talk to Father about something that had been nagging at him. Greg sat heavily and raised his eyebrows.

"Greg, may I ask you a favour?"

"Anything."

"If I should...die, Greg, would you watch Draco for me? I worry about him. Make sure he doesn't do anything rash, all right?"

Greg nodded solemnly. "I will. But you can't die. Promise?"

Hermione laughed. "You want me to promise not to die when I asked you for a favour if I do die?"

Greg nodded. "We'd all be upset. Might have to take it out on Weasley or someone, you know."

Hermione laughed harder. "Greg, are you blackmailing me not to die?"

"Yeah."

Father wasn't in his study. Draco looked a few more places and then walked toward the tower, thinking that perhaps he'd gone to talk to Trixie. Bellatrix was reclining on her bed, and sat, grinning, when she saw him.

"Well, if it isn't ickle nephie. What's wrong, Dwaco, lost your way?"

"Is Father here?"

"No, haven't seen him. And here I thought you'd come to visit. Perhaps you'll bring the missus?"

"Not a chance." Draco turned for the door. A cold little hand lashed out and caught his. "Going so soon?"

"Let go, Aunt Trixie."

She laughed. "You'll be back when the mudblood's bleeding her life out. Then you'll beg for my help."

Draco dropped his voice. "You'd best hope you never see me again. Because if you do, and something's happened… I'll come for you. And I'll make it slow. Think about that, won't you?"

"What, will you sacrifice me to her, like Polyxena on the tomb of Achilles?"

Draco dropped his voice lowered. "You're not worth it. I'll give you to the birds and wolves instead."

Bellatrix cocked her head. "You need me, boy."

"For what?"

"I taught you to hate. Remember that, when you try to kill me. Lucius taught you blood purity, but I taught you what hatred really is."

He didn't disagree with her, as he walked to find to his father in the still house.

He climbed into the bed as carefully as he could. He was sleeping in the family's heavy walnut sickbed, which had been adjusted so it would be the same height as the other bed. At night, the elves moved it so it would be level with Hermione. They could talk, hold hands and try to cling to normalcy as much as possible.

Hermione was awake. "Hello, Draco."

"How are you, love?"

"Well. The Goyles took Custard for a while, and her kits."

"Feels like a treat to be in bed with you."

"It feels like a treat to have you in bed with me." The silence seemed loud, so he pressed his head to her heart and listened, reassured that it was going normally. "Draco?"

"Hmmm?"

"I love you."

"Love you too, precious.' Draco took a very deep breath 'If…if something happens, and I have to choose…I'm choosing you."

Hermione blanched. "You've thought it through?"

He nodded. "Every minute. I'm choosing you."

"Would Mother and Father let you?"

"Of course they would."

Hermione was silent a long moment. "I've always prided myself on being able to express my thoughts, but this is…there's no words."

"Maybe that's better.' His face went rigid with anger. 'I thought once He was dead, we'd be safe. It's like the last night in the Room all over again, isn't it?"

Hermione shook her head firmly. "No."

"No?"

"Because I'll never wake to find you've gone to kill someone again."

Draco held her tighter and prayed with his whole heart she was right.